Anchor
by Minch
Summary: My contribution to DMRM. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

**This story may or may not be counted as a Drown Malcolm story. I know, I know, it's late, but better late than never!**

**Post-Terra Prime story, but not post-TATV. Takes place about a year after "Terra Prime", in 2155.**

**I don't own Star Trek. Paramount does.**

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**ANCHOR**

"Risa?" Lieutenant Malcolm Reed asked incredulously. "After what happened the last time?"

"You mean what happened to us, or to the captain?" Commander Charles "Trip" Tucker III asked nonchalantly. He opened the bottle of wine he had brought and poured some into each of the two cups before handing one to Malcolm.

Malcolm did not take it right away, glaring at his friend as his face turned slightly red. "You haven't told anyone, have you?"

"I haven't. If I did, we'd never hear the end of it." Malcolm still looked suspicious, but took the glass all the same.

"I hope you haven't spilled the beans either," Trip said as he sat on Malcolm's bunk and Malcolm sat in the desk chair. Before Malcolm could reply, he raised his glass in a toast. "To an uneventful shore leave for everyone."

"Hear, hear." They drank, and then sat in silence for a few moments. "Where're you planning on going?" Malcolm asked.

"I was thinking about skipping the bar this time. Maybe skipping the cities altogether."

"Yeah," Malcolm muttered in agreement.

"There's some parkland a ways in from the coast." Trip handed Malcolm a PADD with something similar to a travel brochure on it, advertising the park. "Seems like the perfect place to go camping."

"It is beautiful, Trip." He passed the PADD back. "Any room for one more to come along?" Malcolm asked in a lightly mocking tone.

Trip made a face, equally joking. "Of course you can come! Why else would I show you the ad?"

"To make me feel miserable?" They shared a quiet laugh over that.

"I'm thinking we're the only ones who can go," Trip said quietly, his face no longer cheerful.

"Why's that?"

"Well, the captain could only wangle eighteen hours a person. They also said we had to come down in three separate groups."

"So we're divided into our shifts," Malcolm guessed.

"Well, that's not so bad," Trip said, trying to brighten up again. "I'll pack some games, a pack of cards," he leaned over to Malcolm conspiratorially. "Maybe even some Andorian ale if I can slip it by the Captain."

0~0~0~0~0~0

"What about this spot?" Trip put a hand up to shield his eyes from the sun as he looked over at Malcolm, who was inspecting the proposed campsite. Both wore blue jeans and thick long-sleeved shirts, as well as hiking boots from the Quartermaster. The trees, both coniferous and deciduous –or their Risan equivalents– grew thickly. A stream, flowing rather quickly by the sound of it, could be heard nearby. A few sprigs of wildflowers dotted the ground, coloured vivid reds and blues.

"It's a little uneven," Malcolm said, walking around on grass that was partly soft, familiar green stems and partly pricklier turquoise stalks. "And it slopes downhill."

"So?" Trip asked, anxious to unpack. "It doesn't matter."

"It'll matter when you have to sleep uphill," Malcolm replied. "I did enough of that on scout trips when I was a kid."

"So then, Mr Boy Scout, where do you suggest we pitch the tent?"

"Eagle Scout, actually." Malcolm scanned the area. "What about there?" Trip looked toward where he indicated. Up a slight incline was a level area about three metres square, perfect for a tent and campfire.

"Well," Trip pretended to reflect on it seriously. "Why not?" They walked the short distance to the chosen site and got to work right away. "I hope you know how to set this up," Trip said as they pulled the tent bag out of his pack. "I don't think I've been camping since," he thought a little, "hell, since that rogue planet. Remember those pigs, what were they?"

"_Drayjin_," Malcolm readily supplied. "That wasn't bad cooking they had."

"Don't get your hopes up for anything that compares to it this time," Trip said with a grunt as he tried to pull the tent out of its bag. "I tried to sweet-talk Chef into packing something." Malcolm grabbed the other end of the bag and tugged. "No such luck."

Their conversation was cut off when the tent suddenly shot out of its bag. Malcolm only stumbled back a little, but Trip ended up flat on the ground with the wind knocked out of him.

"Trip," Malcolm said worriedly as he hurried over and helped his friend sit up. "Take deep breaths," he instructed as he stood behind Trip, letting the chief engineer lean back against his legs.

When Trip had the breath to talk, he said quietly, "That went well."

Malcolm smiled that little half smirk of his. "I'll set up the tent. The sunlight won't last forever." Trip sat up, allowing Malcolm to walk over to the rolled-up tent. Trip tried to follow him, but the tactical officer put a hand on his shoulder. "Please, Trip. I can set it up alone. You just need to sit until you get your wind back."

Under normal circumstances Trip would have cajoled and joked his way into forcing Malcolm to let him help, but this time he deferred to his judgment. Besides, the sun was going down pretty quickly, and it would be better to have the tent up before then. He sat quietly while Malcolm unrolled the tent and got the poles out. In about five minutes, Trip had his breath back and the tent was all set up. Even the rain fly and stakes. "Exactly how many times have you gone camping?" Trip asked, not quite believing that one man, even one as diligent as Malcolm, could have set up a tent that quickly. "Between my dad, my brother and me, it would take us around 15 minutes to set up a tent."

"Plenty of scout campouts, not to mention setting up in the rain sometimes," Malcolm said matter-of-factly. He pulled a collapsible shovel out of his backpack.

"And just what are you doing now?" Trip asked bemusedly.

"Digging a fire pit," Malcolm replied. "I don't suppose you're up to finding some rocks to line it with?" Trip was about to retort that he did not need Malcolm to babysit him when he saw an impish light in Malcolm's eyes and in his grin. It was not that often that his friend joked.

"I'll see what I can find," Trip said, taking off at a brisk pace toward the sound of the stream. It was not too wide, but the banks on either side were at least a metre tall. The portion of the stream in front of him was shallow, with pebbles and fist-sized rocks lining the creek bed. He walked alongside the brook until the bank sloped down, and then walked upstream to where the larger rocks were. The water barely reached the top of his toes. As he picked out rocks, Trip thought about what had just passed. As always, Malcolm did his job without complaining or slacking off. But what Malcolm had done back there was not because he was an officer in Starfleet; it was because Trip was Malcolm's best friend. That was a far cry from the buttoned-down, totally reserved officer who had joined the crew five years ago.

~0~0~0~0~0~

"How late is it?" Trip asked with a yawn as they packed up the board and stones from Go.

"Around 2300," Malcolm replied, managing to stifle the yawn that rose in his throat.

"We could sit up a while longer, maybe some card games," Trip suggested.

"Before that, I need to find a bush," Malcolm said as he stood up, a little sore from sitting so long. "If I don't get back soon, you can send a search party."

"You bet," Trip said sarcastically as Malcolm strolled off. He waited until Malcolm was out of sight before he opened up the zipper of the tent. He crawled over to his backpack and pulled two canteens out. He unscrewed the tops to check—Andorian ale, just like he promised.

0~0~0~0~0~0

Malcolm was just finishing up when he heard a noise coming from the stream. It sounded like a set of maracas, clinking and rattling. He could hear it quite clearly above the babbling water. He looked behind him. The light of the fire and the lantern they had put near the tent burned clearly. Trip would hear him if he needed help. Besides, an unfamiliar noise on an alien world did not sit well with him. He had to find out what it was.

Turning back to the stream, Malcolm walked slowly, taking care to go as silently as he could. As he approached the drop-off, the noise suddenly stopped. Malcolm stopped moving as well. The sudden silence made the hair on the back of his neck stand. It was all very, very wrong.

Without warning, something pierced his leg. Malcolm dropped to one knee as pain blazed around the spot. His fingers closed on something that felt like a bead. He yanked it out, but before he could look at it or do anything else, a numbing sensation spread throughout his leg and he could no longer move it. He lost his balance and fell off the ledge into the water.

A sharp pain in his forehead told Malcolm that he had cut it on the rocks. The bead was gone, probably drifting downstream. The water was extremely shallow, not more than perhaps four centimetres deep. But the feeling, or lack thereof, in his injured leg spread quickly to the other, then up his torso. He tried to call out to Trip, but the numbness accelerated to overtake his chest, arms, and finally his head. The last sight he saw before his eyes closed was the water. It surrounded him and almost flowed over his head, but he could not lift his head of the water.

**~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~**


	2. Chapter 2

**On to the second chapter of my DMRM story! Planning on having a lot of time to write these next few weeks, but the best laid plans of mice and men oft go astray. Well, here's hoping!**

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Trip was getting worried about Malcolm. It had been nearly ten minutes. Not that Trip was judging how long it took to take a crap, but that was a long time. He made up his mind, took a torch and walked down the hill to look for Malcolm. He would deal with the possible embarrassment when he came to it. "If this were any other planet, Malcolm, I wouldn't go looking," Trip muttered to himself. He was about to head out when he stopped, his mind flashing back to all the times on away missions that they had gone in search of someone and found them in need of medical attention. Better take a scanner, just in case.

With the scanner in his pocket, he walked around, calling Malcolm's name, taking care to not shine the light directly in the bushes. He heard the creek. Maybe Malcolm had gone down there. As he stepped up to the edge of the bank, he felt something zip by him, like a bug. It did not touch him, but it nearly hit him in the leg. He stumbled a little, the beam of the torch dropped to point into the creek—his heart nearly stopped when he saw the body in the water.

~0~0~0~0~0~

Strangely, Malcolm could still hear and feel. He could think too, though it did not do him much good. The water rushed by, almost flowing into his mouth and into his lungs. The fear that had ruled his life as a child, brought about his father's eternal disapproval, and led to his joining Starfleet, reared its cursed-ugly head. It enveloped Malcolm, but the aquaphobia was not the worst; it was that he could not make a sound or a move.

He stayed there for minutes or hours, he could not tell. The cold water seeped into his clothes. The cut on his forehead bled, or so Malcolm could tell by the wetness on his face and the faint sickly sweet smell. Suddenly, through his eyelids, he saw the light of a torch. "Malcolm!"

~0~0~0~0~0~

"Oh my god, Malcolm," Trip kept saying as he jumped down into the creek. His friend looked positively lifeless, except for the slash in his head that stained the water scarlet. Fumbling a little, he dropped to his knees in the freezing water, pulled out the scanner, and turned it on.

One of the knots in his chest undid itself when he saw the results: spine intact, no broken bones, but a bad concussion, a puncture wound in his leg and hypothermia beginning to set in. As gently as he could, Trip lifted Malcolm out of the water. He could try a fireman's carry, but he did not know what that would do to Malcolm. Instead, he picked his friend up like a child, taking care not to jostle his head. Staggering under the weight, Trip made his way to where the bank sloped down and he could step up more easily. Malcolm might be shorter than he was, but Trip doubted he weighed much less. Muscle was heavier than fat, and his friend crammed plenty of weight training and drills into his schedule. Slowly, carefully, he walked back to the campsite.

~0~0~0~0~0~

He felt Trip set him down gently. Heat on his left side and the sound of the tent zipper somewhere above his head told him they were at the campsite. Trip must have opened a communicator by the chirp Malcolm heard next. "Tucker to _Enterprise_." Nothing, just static. "_Enterprise_, emergency! Come in!" Nothing. Trip swore and jumped back into the tent for something, although Malcolm could not be certain of what he was after from just sound.

Malcolm felt as if he were still drowning. Trapped in an unresponsive body, unable to speak or so much as twitch, all he could do was breathe and listen. His panic rose again, but his heart would not do him the courtesy of beating faster. It continued at a slow, but steady pace. _Is this what descent into madness feels like_?Malcolm wondered.

A wet cloth on his head startled him out of his speculations. From the smarting in the cut when the cloth touched it, Trip was using some antiseptic to clean it. The pain helped clear Malcolm's head. But more than that, he did not feel like he was drowning, not so long as he had some human contact. A while later, Trip wrapped a compress and a bandage around Malcolm's head.

~0~0~0~0~0~

Trip knew what he had to do next. Malcolm was soaked to the skin. There were some dry clothes in his knapsack. "It's as simple as that," he muttered. "He's soaked and unconscious. I have to." He put a hand to Malcolm's shirt collar but stopped. "Why not start with boots?" he asked out loud. He unlaced them, yanked them off, and then pulled Malcolm's socks off.

Now the shirt. Clumsily, he undid the buttons, pulled Malcolm's arms out of the sleeves, and slid the shirt out from underneath Malcolm. Trousers followed. Trip redressed Malcolm as best as he could and then pulled one of the reflective blankets out from the emergency kit, which he wrapped around his unresponsive friend. The blanket, he knew, would absorb heat from the fire as well as reflect Malcolm's own body heat back on to himself. He would be dry and his body temperature rising in no time. Suddenly remembering, he whipped out the med scanner and pulled the blanket back from Malcolm's right leg. The puncture wound was a small hole bleeding sluggishly. "What did you do, Malcolm?" Trip wondered aloud. He knew there was no way Malcolm could hear him, but he could not stand not talking to someone for long.

From his first aid course in Starfleet, Trip could understand a basic med scanner reading. As far as he could tell, the wound had clotted itself. He pulled another compress and bandage out and proceeded to treat Malcolm's leg.

~0~0~0~0~0~

So cold, so cold. He had thought he knew what hypothermia was like, that time in the shuttlepod, but this was much worse. Slowly, Malcolm felt a flicker of warmth return to his limbs. A flicker of hope also ignited in his soul; perhaps he would be able to move again.

He heard Trip pull out the communicator again. "Tucker to _Enterprise_, come in _Enterprise_." Still static. The sound of an object striking the far wall of the tent must have been Trip throwing the communicator back into the tent. "Dammit, Malcolm, they're not answering!"

Nothing after that. Just the crackle of the fire. "Don't worry Malcolm. They'll contact us soon. We'll get you to sickbay, Phlox'll patch you up good as new. They'll come, Malcolm, they'll come."

In his heart, Malcolm feared that Trip's words were spoken in vain.

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**Kind of short, I know, but the next update will finish up the story.**

**The best Christmas present I could get would be a review! Please.**


	3. Chapter 3

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They waited for what felt like an eternity. Every now and then, Trip would call _Enterprise_ again, but no one ever answered. It was always just static. Sometimes, Trip would pull out the scanner and check on Malcolm, but he remained unresponsive. The readings did not get any better, but they did not get any worse either. "Don't know if that's a good sign or not," Trip muttered to himself.

Silence. Trip could hear the creek babbling, and some crickets chirping. At least they sounded like Earth crickets. The effect was calming. "Not that bad of a place to be stuck, huh, Malcolm? No bad guys chasing us, no crisis about to explode. Just my best friend out cold and I don't know how to help him." His voice broke on those last words. "Oh, Malcolm. What did you do to land yourself in this mess?"

_What if he never wakes up?_ The thought came unbidden to Trip's mind. _No, don't think like that_. _Must think happy endings_. _Think of Malcolm like he's been all these years._

~0~0~0~0~0~

It was like lying on the beach with the tide coming in. The water rose and fell, always threatening to drag Malcolm back into an ocean of madness again. Only Trip's voice kept it at bay. He talked about all kinds of stuff. It sounded like he was trying to keep himself from thinking too much about their predicament. He launched into a monologue of his memories of Malcolm.

"The captain and I were on the board for senior officer candidates for _Enterprise_. I remember it was really late and I just wanted to go home and hit the sack, but Admiral Forrest said we weren't leaving until we at least had an armoury officer picked out. Your file was near the top of the list, excellent recommendations, good record, everything." He chuckled self-consciously. "I think we were all so tired, we just decided to go with you based on that. But when I first met you, my first impression was, 'This guy is a miserable S.O.B. who can't take his mind off explosives for so much as a minute. Why the hell did we ever pick him?' "

_And I thought you, and frankly the captain, to be ridiculously optimistic yanks who didn't know the first thing about discipline and respect_, Malcolm responded silently.

"But then, in that first battle with the Suliban, I realised we wouldn't be alive without you at the controls. We muddled along as colleagues, up until that ghostly green ship that never said anything. I really think that was the first time we spent some good quality time together."

_Getting shocked from unpolarised relays and nearly blown apart by our own weapons' output is your idea of quality time_? Malcolm 'asked' in reproach.

"Then that fiasco in the shuttlepod. You wouldn't shut up and let me sleep. Then, somehow we go from shouting at each other to getting smashed. The galaxy giggling at us." He felt Trip's laughter at his side. "There was something about T'Pol that you said, that she was awfully nice or something like that."

_I was drunk as all hell_, Malcolm retorted.

"Then there was something else. I think I was trying to climb into the airlock, buy you a little more time. You pulled a phase pistol out…I was threatening to bust your ass back to Crewman…the one thing I do recollect clearly was you saying 'I'm pretty sure you use up a lot more oxygen WHEN YOU SHOUT LIKE THAT!' That shut me right up. Then we're suddenly best friends. Talking, eating lunch together, going on shore leave."

_Don't remind me. The single most embarrassing episode of my career_.

"It could have been a lot worse." Trip's voice dropped conspiratorially. "If we hadn't broken out when we did, _Enterprise_ would've had to come looking for us." He took a breath. "Malcolm, I know you can't hear me, but I'm real grateful that officer board didn't skip over you. You are one of my best friends, and the best man for your job. I—" He hesitated and then went on. "I just wish those first two years were longer. Looking back, those years were the best. Just exploring, making first contacts."

_Then Earth had to grow up a lot faster than we would have liked. Then we all grew up._

"Then the Xindi attacked. Just that one little test weapon. Seven million dead. A totally new mission. For a while, hate was the only thing that kept me going. The captain cut himself off from everyone, practically from his own humanity. I could never tell with T'Pol. Sometimes it felt like she was there for me, sometimes she wasn't." He paused for a moment. "I'm sorry, Malcolm. I don't think I can ever say 'I'm sorry' enough for how badly I treated you. You didn't abandon me, even when I was being a bitter old ass."

_You weren't entirely at fault_ Malcolm thought. _The Xindi killed your sister. You had every reason to be cynical._

"Then, after Azati Prime, the hatred still kept me going, but it was also for all the people we lost. I couldn't understand what the captain was thinking, letting a Xindi on board _Enterprise_. The one who designed the weapon, no less. Then you nearly died closing off that plasma leak." His voice grew thick, but he kept going. "I just cracked, couldn't go on carrying that much hate. You were still there for me. Even when we thought the captain was dead, you were still there."

_You were there for me just as much. I, the one who should have stayed behind to plant the charges, who let myself be convinced to go, who had no right to leave a man behind to do my job_.

"Then all that stuff with the Vulcans, then the Coalition. You were still there, even if you did disobey a direct order." Malcolm heard a smile in Trip's voice. "Your expression when I told you I was putting you on report was just priceless."

He paused. Malcolm knew what was coming next. "Then I up and left you again, all because I was too scared to be around T'Pol, afraid that my feelings were distracting me. _Columbia_ was good, better than _Enterprise_, technologically speaking. But, it wasn't the same. The crew wasn't my family. Then we had to pull that crazy personnel transfer stunt." Trip laughed a little. "It's no wonder they call us 'The Disaster Twins'." The laugh dropped off suddenly. "Right after I get on board, security hauls you off to the brig for a 'misunderstanding' between you and the captain."

_That was pretty much the understatement of the century_, Malcolm agreed silently. His heart clenched at the memories of Section 31. _Never did get around to really explaining it to you_.

"No one would tell me anything about it, but I think I've pieced together the main ideas. I never asked you, just figured you'd tell me when you wanted."

_I will, Trip. I swear, if I ever wake up, I'll tell you everything_.

"Then Terra Prime—" Trip's voice cracked again. "Right when I thought I couldn't hate anyone so much again. Or love anyone so much as Baby Elizabeth." Malcolm heard the tears in his voice. "It's been a year. I thought," his voice shook at every pause, "T'Pol and me, I thought it would still work. But, every time she looked at me, I saw this pain in her eyes, like just looking at me made her think of Elizabeth."

Malcolm felt Trip's body shudder with suppressed sobs. "But, she was doomed from the moment Masaro stole the DNA. Paxton, he used a faulty process to combine it, to create Elizabeth." He took a deep breath. "You were still there. I remember showing up at your door some nights, just stone-drunk. You never complained, never tried to hand me off to someone else. Just let me come in, cry on your shoulder." Malcolm felt Trip fish his hand out of the blanket and grip it. "You were –you still are– my pillar of strength, my anchor back to reality."

_And you are my anchor as well_. Malcolm's heart overflowed with sorrow and love for his best friend. _I would have fallen into insanity by now if it wasn't been for your voice. I would have fallen into despair years ago if it hadn't been for your friendship_. Almost imperceptibly, his hand returned a gentle pressure.

0~0~0~0~0~0

He was still gripping Malcolm's hand when the communicator sputtered. "_Enterprise_ to Commander Tucker. Come in."

"Hoshi, is that you?!" Without waiting for an answer, he half-shouted. "Medical emergency! Malcolm's been knocked out by something. Beam us up, now!"

"Yes, sir." That was when Trip noticed that Malcolm's hand held on to his in return.

"Malcolm," he asked incredulously, not daring to believe. "Malcolm, can you hear me?"

"Archer to Commander Tucker. Trip, come in."

"Tucker here, Captain."

"We're going to use the transporter. Stand by."

"Yes, sir," Trip said. Then he turned his attention back to Malcolm. "Stay with me, lieutenant. That's an order."

"Would I—ever—disobey," Malcolm said, really said. It was only a halting whisper, but they were some of the happiest words Trip ever heard.

~0~0~0~0~0~

"A rat?"

"Something similar to Earth rats, except for venomous barbs stored on their undersides." For once, Phlox was not his usual lighthearted self. "When they feel threatened, they rub the barbs together, which creates a rattling sound as a warning. If that doesn't frighten their predator away, they will shoot a barb at them. Reportedly, the venom paralyses the victim and brings about a sort of madness. Unless they are delivered the antidote within ten minutes, there is no hope."

"Then how is Malcolm still okay?" Trip asked. Archer just looked at the floor.

"Frankly, I don't know. There is a puncture wound in his leg, and the venom is still in his system, though it is being naturally flushed out. It did affect him, in any case. He told me that even though he could not move, he was still aware. He could feel and hear, but not speak or move willingly. Involuntary muscles like his heart and his diaphragm still functioned, but nothing beyond that."

"Can we see him," Archer asked.

"I'll see if he's awake," Phlox said. He went around the corner.

"When I was looking for him, I felt something fly by me. It might have been a barb like the one he got."

"Maybe," Archer said shortly.

"What is it, Captain?" Trip got the impression that he was treading on dangerous ground, but he had to find out what was bothering Archer.

"I just feel like I can never leave you two alone without you landing yourselves in a mess," Archer confided.

"Well, we could hardly help it this time," Trip countered.

Phlox walked back. "Just a few minutes, then he must be allowed to rest." The two men walked quietly to the only occupied bed in Sickbay. Malcolm still looked pale, and a bandage was stuck on his head, but beyond that he was healthy.

"How you feeling?" Archer said informally.

"Better, sir, thank you."

"I thought you knew better by now than to wander around strange planets alone," Archer joked.

"Well, now I do know better," Malcolm said. "Though with our track record, I don't know if such knowledge will help."

Did Malcolm honestly just crack a joke with the captain?

"Get well soon. We need you back at your job," Archer ordered as he stood.

"I'll do my best," Malcolm assured him. After Archer left, Trip walked up and took the chair.

"Hey, Malcolm."

"Hey, Trip." Nothing more was said for a few seconds.

"Phlox was telling us that you could still hear." Trip looked a little apprehensive. "Uh, do you remember much?"

Malcolm looked him directly in the eye and said, "Everything. And Trip, you are just as much my anchor as I am yours." Trip didn't say anything for a moment, so Malcolm kept going. He had made a promise that he intended to keep. "That 'misunderstanding'? You wanted to know what it was," he asked gently. Trip looked at him curiously. "After I graduated from the academy, I was 'recruited' by a little-known section of Starfleet Security. They don't have an official name, just Section 31."

"What, you were a James Bond sort-of guy?"

"Of sorts. I guess it was only a matter of time before I said enough was enough and bowed out." Trip could see how painful this was for Malcolm, having to think about his darkest memories. "I thought I was out, but Harris never really let me go. He hadn't contacted me since before _Enterprise_ launched. But when Phlox was kidnapped, he wanted me to help him."

"Right, he orchestrated the kidnapping with the Klingons." When Malcolm looked at him, Trip shrugged. "That's all the captain told me, that some guy named Harris was in cahoots with the Klingons."

"Well, you know the rest. We got Phlox back, the Klingon Empire stabilised, and I told Harris never to contact me again." He looked like he wanted to say something beyond that, but stopped. Trip didn't care.

"Malcolm," Trip started, trying to find the right words. Then he looked into his friend's steel grey eyes and knew that he needn't say anything.

"I'm sorry, Commander, but I must ask that you leave." Phlox didn't give any sign that he'd overheard them.

"I'll come back in a bit, Malcolm." Trip patted Malcolm's arm as he stood.

"Alright." Malcolm watched Trip go out the door.

~0~0~0~0~0~

He had almost done it, almost told him about the last time he had seen Harris. But he could not. Could not make Trip feel even guiltier about losing Elizabeth. The information Harris had given him led them to finding her, but at what cost?

"You realise this means you're back in the game," Harris told him. Malcolm would pay any price for Trip, even give up his own life if it would save Trip's. Even go back to the section for that last stint Harris hinted at.

Perhaps he would tell him, one day. An anchor is trusted to hold you in place at sea. The chain is strong, but it must be trusted with everything to work. He already knew that Trip trusted him. He would have to tell him one day.

**THE END**

**I know, it's a month late, but at least I got it out before the year was out.**


End file.
